


Reaper

by Oh_Hey_Its



Category: Tegan and Sara (Band)
Genre: Death, F/F, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Hey_Its/pseuds/Oh_Hey_Its
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I could still feel the blood of the woman I'd killed dripping off of my hands, scrubbing them until they bled freely themselves. No matter what I did, however, I still craved death... I still craved Her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> This has been lying dormant on my computer somewhat finished for months. I finally got bored and decided to bring it life. I hope it isn't too dark lol.  
> NOTE: I left the characters purposely ambiguous. If you see Tegan as one and Sara as the other or vice-versa then awesome! Who is who is completely up to your interpretation.

_"Death, it seems, does not like to wait until we are prepared for it. Death is indulgent and enjoys, when it can, a flair for the dramatic."_

_~_ The World According To Garp by John Irving

 

 

 

I wouldn’t say I’m a murderer. The intense pleasure I feel in the extinguishing of a human life is revolting in every sense of the word, and yet I can’t help but crave it like an addict. It’s a disease, a dark twisted joke without a punchline, a serpentine coating of sin that drapes over me like a thick slimy coat. What can I say though? There really is no other explanation. Death is hot and I’ve fallen madly in love with her.

 

 

 

This nightmare began with a hit-and-run.

Three o’clock in the morning on the freeway heading north, snowstorm dumping inch after inch onto the frozen pavement. Later at the hospital I found out that the man who was hit and killed by the truck in front of me was walking down the road to get help, his car had broken down. I’d pulled over after it happened and ran to where he had fallen in the snow, no other vehicles in sight. There had been blood everywhere, spilling from his lips and where shards of bone split from the skin of his forearm. He died in front of me as I was talking to the 911 operator on my Blackberry, gurgling heavily before turning glassy eyed and empty. I could almost sense the life leaving his body.

That’s when she appeared… it was love at first sight.

Her hair was brown, cut stylishly short. She wore black skin tight jeans, a long black shirt, and a leather jacket. There was a chain necklace around her neck with a small metal skull attached to it that hung down between her breasts. Her lips where stained black, deep layered bags beneath her eyes which were entirely a swirling murky black, every inch of her exposed skin pale to the point of translucency. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on, paralyzing me with her presence.

There was an air of elegance, of otherworldliness, to her as I watched her fall to one knee silently beside me and the rapidly cooling body of the dead man cradled in my arms. I had tried opened my mouth to speak, to ask her for help, to wonder why it was that she’d appeared out of nowhere in the snow, but she seemed to suck all of the air out of my lungs and I could do nothing but watch her in awe as her head lowered, neck arching gracefully, and she connected her lips with the blue tinted ones of the body between us.

As she pulled away I saw a stream of something silvery finish curling and winding its way into her mouth. Her teeth shone in the darkness, whiteness gleaming sharply. Our eyes met and suddenly I had no way of moving, of breathing, of thinking. She’d cocked her head to the side in a dog-like manner before rising to her feet effortlessly and, turning on her heel, walking briskly away. Her form seemed to evaporate amongst the falling flakes of snow as I crumpled down beside the dead man, unconscious with a mind full of agonizing blurry shapes, nightmares I still can’t dissociate from no matter how hard I try.

 

 

I didn’t bother telling the police. I knew that no one would believe what I had seen… heck I couldn’t even believe what I had seen. Who was she… or… what was she? I wanted, no needed, to know. My hands shook at the thought of being near her again, adrenaline racing through my bloodstream making it hard to breath. She became everything.

 

At first I went home and tried to move on, but no matter what I did she refused to leave my thoughts. I would lie awake far into the night tossing and turning to images of her bony wrists as she knelt down, her soft lips connecting with the dead man’s, the swell of her breasts between the necklace she wore. She made me mad with lust.

Google searches left me with no answers, the ridiculous religious websites filled with staunch followers ‘visits with satan’ and useless ‘monstology’ indexes giving no quality explanation or even a name for the figure I’d seen. I was alone in my experience, a sole survivor left gasping helplessly in her wake.

 

After six days of mental agony, I finally couldn’t take it anymore. As night fell I snapped in a horrifying way.

I didn’t feel anything at all as I robotically hired a prostitute and fucked her harshly against the wall of the grimy alleyway I’d paid for her in. As I finished, the pocket knife I’d slipped into my pocket before leaving my apartment found its way between her ribs. She’d thrashed against me weakly, moaning in pain against the clammy hand I had clamped firmly over her mouth as I eased us both to the ground. I held her as her frantic motions slowed to a stop and the life left her eyes. Then, I waited.

It didn’t take her long, obsidian eyes flashing in the flickering light, drifting from the body to me and back. She cocked her head to the side, just like the first time, before kneeling and sucking the silvery mist from the dead girl’s mouth just as she’d done to the man. I crouched there in the bloody snow as paralyzed as before, locked in place as she stood and disappeared, her form evaporating into the night. I’d stared dumbly at where she’d been until the sound of sirens roused me from my stupor and I bolted, disappearing into the dark streets after ensuring there was no trace of my presence left behind.

Sated. For now.

 

A week passed, and the thoughts returned, nightmares plaguing me day and night. I tried desperately to fight it, horrified with what I’d done. It was the nights that were the worst. I felt as though I could still feel the blood of the woman I’d killed dripping off of my hands, scrubbing them until they bled freely themselves. No matter what I did, however, I still craved Death... I still craved Her.

 

A darkened street at night, my mind clouded. A young man, drunken and stumbling down the sidewalk. I make my move.

He fights back, swinging his arms as his inebriated brain initiates its final desperate attempt to save his life. I am stronger though, bubbles floating up towards the bank where I am kneeling straddling his weakening body and holding his head firmly beneath the river’s waters. He finally goes limp with a shudder, and I can sense his heart pump one last time before stopping. He is gone. She will come.

She walks up from the depths of the river, eyeing the body from where its torso floats languidly in the water. I tug it roughly, dripping out the rest of the way, my shirt and pants soaked, and flip it onto its back. Anything to make her work easier.

As I do this she watches, those haunting eyes unblinking. She reaches over to me with her right hand, and I feel a chill run sharply down my spine as her fingers meets my shoulder. Her touch is like stepping into a giant freezer, goose bumps rising frantically on my skin. I shake as the pleasure sinks in, icy tendrils shooting deep into my core. I feel her, and then she is gone, taking everything I have with her.

She takes what she needs from the body, licking her lips as she finishes, and offers me one last look. Then, as always, she is gone.

I disappear into the night, mind floating.

 

My friend comes over to see me. She speaks of how everyone is worried, how I’ve been acting strangely, asking what she could do to help.

She is shocked by my laughter at her words. I show her to the door, watching coldly as she leaves with a worried taken aback look on her face. She doesn’t matter anymore, none of them do.

 

The sound of glass shattering is the last thing they hear. The scalding hot metal breaking their skulls into fragments does the rest.

The gun had been a nice addition to my armament. It was quicker, easier. She would come much sooner when there was no prolonged minutes leading up to the end. At least this pair got to spend their last moments together, making out over the center console of an expensive looking Mercedes parked in a clearing just off the road. A fine place to view the stars and have a romantic evening, and an even finer place to die.

She came and took what she wanted. I stayed back and watched dreamily, attempting to remember every detail as she sifted through brain matter to find her prize. She’d walked over when she was done, nervous excitement bubbling over inside of me as she grasped my shoulder as she had before, nodded, and pulled me into a stiff frozen embrace.

She smelled of Foxglove and Monkshood, Death in her most beautiful form. The ache inside of me grew stronger, more debilitating, more unforgiving. Her lips grazed my cheek as she misted away from my paralyzed form.

 

 I didn’t sleep for three days after. I now felt as though we had an undeniable connection, she’d chosen me for a reason. What I had with her I could find with nobody else.

The news began reporting of ongoing police investigations that suggested a possible serial killer was behind the string of killings. I panicked, shaking hard. What was I doing? Pictures of each of my victims were flashed up on the screen, the crying mother of one begging desperately for justice. I turned off the TV and wept.

 

Blood stains are hard to remove from clothing. I watch a youtube video of an older woman explaining the correct way to remove ‘stubborn stains’ and think, scrubbing the pair of jeans laid out in front of me absentmindedly. I need to be more careful now that the authorities are taking notice. If I am arrested there will be no chance of me ever seeing her again… and I refuse to let that happen.

 

My latest sacrifice twitches as I hold him down, eyes rolling to a glazed over stop as he dies. I wipe the blood on my hands and arms on his dress shirt, muttering as I find some of it has already dried to my skin like a metallic layer of primer.

She comes and I quickly forget about the inconvenience, watching her gorgeous frame lean over and take her fill from the bloody scene before walking over to me and pulling me close. She pets my hair softly and I sigh into her empty chest, burrowing my face into her freezing clavicle. She never speaks, a sort of purr rumbling in her chest instead. She wraps her thin arms around me and I am home.

 

Nobody speaks to me anymore. I am a shadow, a creature lurking in the dark, the stuff of horror movies and phobias and sleep paralysis induced hallucinations. I am a myth, an awful figment of thought. Death is Her and She is Death and I am merely a pawn in a greater game. Her game. The hold is far too strong, and something I no longer wish to escape.

 

She kisses my forehead, cool lips connecting with my burning skin. I am ill, too weak to leave my bed, my body wracked with coughs and high fever. For once there is no stink of loss permeating the air between us, and I relish what I can. She cares for me, holding me close when I shake and cry out to phantoms only my heated mind can cook up in its confusion. I hide in her safety because I have nowhere else to go. She took me the first night I saw her, and I have been struggling without a soul since.

 

She appears randomly throughout my days. I am out of work now, living beneath a bridge under a ripped tarp I’d found under a dumpster after being evicted from my apartment. I killed when I felt her need inside, providing her sustenance. The cough never left as the fever did, and I find myself hacking up phlegm violently at times, wheezing to catch my breath. She always comes when this happens. I am not sure if she is expecting my death or if she is there only out of concern, but I bask in her arms never the less.

 

My last kill is a painful one. He got me with a weapon of his own, shotgun shattering my pelvis and rendering my legs useless. I watch her materialize and I know that this is where whatever little I have left ends. Her brow furrows and she kneels in my blood as I start coughing. Sirens start, closer, closer. Her hands grasp at my face, her mouth open and mouthing things she can’t say.

“Hold me.” I beg as I reach for my gun. I scream as the movement jars my useless limbs. “Please just hold me before I have to go.”

The cool metal rests in my hand like an old friend, the hopeless faces of my victims flashing though my eyes. All that I had before comes back and I weep. She sits and pulls me to her, purring desperately to calm me down, to reassure me as she cradles my form to her chest. It is too late, I try to tell her, but my sobs break the words into little pieces.

My head grows light and I feel faint, as though I am floating. The sirens reach their destination, the sounds of men yelling and banging on the door of the man I killed’s home reaching my muffled ears. I look up at her and when she looks down, there is something lurking in that normally impassive gaze. Little drops of liquid stream from her eyes and drip onto my face as I bring the gun up to the side of my head. The door breaks open with a loud crack and a bang.

“I love you.” I breathe as she curls her body over me, as if to protect it from the harm I am about to inflict.

My finger pulls the trigger.


End file.
